Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Kip Grady/Scott Hunter

Characters:

Kip Grady, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Carter Vaughn, Eric Bennett, Greg Huff

Additional Tags:

Concussions, Temporary Amnesia, Breaking Up & Making Up, Angst with a Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2025-12-13 Completed: 2025-12-18 Words: 13,630 Chapters: 6/6

Concussion Protocol

Summary

Scott must be confused as hell if he was asking for Kip. Especially in front of his teammates. Kip should say no, that he was a friend from outside New York. He lived in Vancouver or Hawaii or England. Scott was quite literally concussed, he didn’t actually want his ex-boyfriend showing up. It had been made abundantly clear that Kip and Scott’s friend groups would not be meeting each other.

“I—yeah. What hospital is he at?” Kip said.

Notes

This is my post episode 3 emotional support fic. Both show and book inspired.

Chapter 1: Kip

Kip watched his phone buzz across the desk as his Postmodernism seminar ended, Scott flashing on the screen. He felt his heart squeeze. He’d never even added a picture to go with the contact number. They’d been that careful.

And having to be that careful had been Kip’s breaking point. He hadn’t spoken to Scott in almost four months. Why he was calling now was a mystery, and maybe one Kip should let go to voicemail, but four months meant nothing in the long run, he was still weak as fuck when it came to Scott.

“Hello? Scott?” Kip said cautiously.

“Hey, man,” said a voice that was definitely not Scott. “Sorry, this is Carter Vaughn. I’ve got Scott’s phone. Is this Kip?”

“Yeah,” Kip said. Carter Vaughn was one of Scott’s teammates. Number 19. Kip had seen him on the ice, teeing Scott up for goals.

“I don’t know if you saw the game tonight,” Vaughn said, “but Scott took a bad hit. He’s in the hospital while they monitor the concussion.”

Oh fuck, Kip thought, falling back into his seat. Ariana, who’d been waiting for him to finish packing up so they could walk out together, gave him a concerned look.

“Anyway, doctors think he’s going to be fine,” Vaughn continued, “but when he woke up he was asking for you. I face scanned him to get his phone open and find your number. Are you in town? Could you stop by for visiting hours?”

Scott must be confused as hell if he was asking for Kip. Especially in front of his teammates. Kip should say no, that he was a friend from outside New York. He lived in Vancouver or Hawaii or England. Scott was quite literally concussed, he didn’t actually want his ex-boyfriend showing up. It had been made abundantly clear that Kip and Scott’s friend groups would not be meeting each other.

“I—yeah. What hospital is he at?” Kip said.

-

On his way to Mount Sinai, Kip watched an excruciating clip of the game where some asshole on the Chicago Mariners rammed Scott into the boards head first, knocking his helmet off and leaving him in a crumpled heap on the ice.

Gameplay had been stopped for a full ten minutes as team medical personnel swarmed onto the rink, eventually looping Scott’s arms over their shoulders and steering him off the ice to the sound of muted applause.

Jesus, Kip thought, swallowing the lump in his throat.

He’d just check that Scott was okay. Vaughn hadn’t seemed to suspect anything about their relationship. Scott was a little loopy and asking to see a friend, there was nothing wrong with that. And maybe Kip could still be his friend. He’d asked Scott for a clean break—no late night booty calls to let off steam, nothing that would drag Kip back to what was only going to break his heart again. But four months on, Kip still missed him. He still wanted to know that Scott was okay.

The doors to the hospital slid open and Kip blinked against the harsh fluorescent lighting. Vaughn had said he’d meet Kip in reception to take him up to Scott’s room. With all the possible intrusion attempts from media or gawkers, they weren’t letting anyone in unescorted.

Kip had never seen Carter Vaughn without a helmet and jersey on but he was easy enough to spot after months of watching Admirals games. Kip raised a hand in greeting and Vaughn trotted over to him. “Hey man, thanks for coming.”

“No problem,” Kip said. “I don’t know what help I can be, but I’m happy to keep Scott company for awhile.”

Vaughn nodded, leading Kip toward the elevator. “That’s all he needs really. Concussions fucking suck. He’s in that heightened emotional stage. Honest to God looked like he was gonna cry when he was asking if someone could get you and I don’t think I’ve ever seen Scott cry.”

“You’ve known him a long time?” Kip asked, trying to breathe through the pain suddenly jabbing at his heart. He’d seen Scott cry once—just the once, when Kip had zipped up his bag and left Scott’s penthouse for the last time.

“Since we were rookies,” Vaughn said. “Are you guys old friends? He barely talks about his life outside hockey. Focused as hell.”

Kip shook his head. “We’ve only been friends for a year.” And that was rounding up. “Not sure what made him think of me right now.”

Vaughn laughed. “Dude, my last concussion, they told me afterwards I was asking for Scarlett Johansson. Still don’t know if that was just Huff fucking with me. Mostly I remember being dizzy as shit.”

The elevator doors opened and Vaughn led Kip down a quiet, squeaky-floored hallway to room 421. Inside, Scott was lying on his back on a hospital bed, eyes closed. His face was almost as white as the sheets. Kip felt a little dizzy himself.

“Benny, this is Kip,” Vaughn said to a man sitting in a chair by the window. “Kip, Eric Bennett. He’s our goalie.”

Bennett unfolded from the chair and reached out to shake Kip’s hand. “Nice to meet you. He’s been in and out,” Bennett said, motioning to Scott. “Asked if you were here again. Looked heartbroken as hell when I said no.”

Exhaustion washed over Kip. Even now he had to lie. To act like it was strange for Scott to want someone he loved, or someone he’d once loved anyway, when he was hurt. “What have the doctors said?”

“Confirmed concussion. No brain swelling which is good. He hasn’t been able to successfully answer all the usual orientation stuff though which isn’t.” Kip gave him a questioning look. “Where he is, what’s the date, who the president is, all that,” Bennett added like this was old hat. It probably was to him, to anyone who played hockey and got their body routinely pummelled in pursuit of sporting glory.

On the bed, Scott stirred. Kip dropped his bookbag on the floor and moved over to his side. “Scott?”

Scott’s eyes blinked open. He looked confused and a little scared in a way that tugged Kip’s heartstrings. He reached out a hand to pat Scott’s forearm where it rested on the sheets.

Scott’s arm twisted until he was holding Kip’s hand instead. “Kip,” he said, sounding relieved, “you’re here.”

“Of course, buddy,” Kip said because he couldn’t say of course, baby. He felt suddenly choked up and cleared his throat. “Heard you took a bad hit on the ice.”

“Yeah,” Scott said, frowning, like he didn’t quite remember. “I think I did. It hurts.” He was looking at Kip with his shiny, sad eyes, the way he had sometimes before he’d said something vulnerable or asked to be held, kissed. “Can you—”

“Bennett’s getting the doctor for you,” Kip cut in before Scott could say something compromising. Kip would have given almost anything to lean down and kiss him, to pretend he was imparting some magical medicine that would make Scott feel better, but they were past that, and they weren’t alone anyway. “And Vaughn’s here too.”

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Vaughn said, coming closer. “Found Kip for you.”

“Thanks, Vaughny,” Scott said, smiling, oddly sweet, and then he closed his eyes again, out like a light.

“He hasn’t called me that in a long time,” Vaughn said quietly to Kip. He rubbed a hand across his face as a doctor came in, trailed by Bennett. “Hi, doc. He’s back out again.”

The doctor nodded, checking the vitals machine Scott was hooked up to. “Did he say anything?”

“Not much,” Vaughn said. “He recognized Kip.”

“He said ‘it hurts’,” Kip added. “Can you give him anything else for pain?”

“I’ll put an order in,” the doctor said, moving over to the corner of the room to type something into the computer. “Have the nurse’s desk page me if he regains consciousness again.”

It was strangely not awkward to pass the time with Vaughn and Bennett. Bennett surfaced a deck of cards from somewhere and dealt out a hand of poker. A few minutes into the round another man came into the room. “Hey guys, kids are down for the night. How’s he doing?”

“Hey Huff,” Bennett said. “He’s woken up a few times and the scans came back okay. Doctors don’t seem too worried.”

“Good,” Huff said. He looked at Kip curiously and extended a hand. “Huff.”

“Kip. Scott’s friend,” Kip added, to give some kind of explanation for why he was there, haunting Scott’s room alongside the people he considered family.

“Didn’t know Scott even had non-hockey friends,” Huff said but he sounded pleased about it. He pulled over a chair and Bennett dealt him into the game.

-

“Kip, your call,” Vaughn said.

“Oh, sorry,” Kip said. The hours had slid by, making his mind wander, and he’d been staring at Scott on the bed, thinking about how this might be the last time he saw him for a long time. “Fold.” Kip put his cards face down. “This is Scott’s third concussion, right?”

“Second at least since I’ve known him,” Huff said. “He got one back in 2011 during the playoffs.”

“There was one when we were rookies too,” Vaughn put in. “From that asshole Michael Gorgin boarding him.” Huff and Bennett made grumbling noises, clearly in the loop about who Gorgin was in the hockey world.

“Scott made this joke to me once,” Kip said, because he’d spent a lot of time not being able to talk about Scott and now he could, for a little while. It felt liberating. “He said he’d only had two concussions and then he held up three fingers.” He shook his head, smiling, remembering how Scott had looked in his running clothes, his back to the window at Straw+Berry.

Vaughn gave a delighted grin. “That’s my joke! Scott stole my joke, he thinks I’m funny!”

“Funnyman,” Huff said, flicking a card at Vaughn.

Kip felt his smile slip. It wasn’t really funny though, was it? “How many— How bad is it…to keep getting head injuries like this?”

Huff and Bennett exchanged a glance. “I mean, it’s not great,” Huff said. “My wife’s got a rule for me. Four concussions and I’m retired, no matter how many good years anyone else thinks I have left.”

Kip swallowed, the click of his throat loud in the sudden quiet.

“Scott’ll be fine,” Vaughn said, patting Kip on the shoulder. “Coach will keep him on the Injured Reserve List for a couple weeks so he can rest up.”

“What I’m worried about is the fact that we’re fucking leaving tomorrow,” Huff said. “Our next four games are on the road. You know the doctors are going to want someone to be with him for monitoring after he gets released and he doesn’t have any other family.”

“I could keep an eye on him,” Kip said, like an idiot.

“Would you?” Vaughn asked, looking relieved.

“Sure,” Kip said. It would be fine. He could handle being around Scott for a few days and if Scott didn’t want him there, they’d figure something else out. “I mean, as long as he’d just need someone to hang out. I’m not a nurse or anything. I’d have to move some work shifts around but that shouldn’t be a big deal.” Kip still needed to hustle to pay off his undergrad loans but getting the scholarship to grad school had taken a huge weight off.

“You’re the best,” Vaughn said. “I can’t believe Scott’s never talked about you before.”

-

Where this left Kip was alone is a hospital room with Scott at six o’clock in the morning, struggling to wake up as a doctor shone a penlight in Scott’s eyes and asked him if he knew where he was.

“At the hospital,” Scott said, but he was looking at Kip, not the doctor.

“Can you tell me your name and date of birth?”

“Scott Hunter. July 28th, 1986.”

“And can you tell me the current date?”

Scott frowned. “I—I’m not sure.”

“That’s all right,” the doctor said. “Difficultly remembering is a common symptom of concussion. Take it easy and things that are fuzzy now should start coming back to you. This is who we’re sending you home with?” she asked, motioning toward Kip.

“Yes,” Kip said, standing up to take the focus off of Scott who looked like he was about to start hyperventilating. The monitors he was hooked up to would probably alarm any second now.

“Wonderful,” the doctor said. “A nurse will be in to go over the discharge instructions with you and we’ll get the two of you out of here. The main thing Scott needs is rest and he can get that at home in the comfort of his own bed.”

“Thank you,” Kip said.

“Kip…,” Scott said when the doctor had left, closing the door behind her.

“You didn’t say anything compromising,” Kip promised him. “You just asked for me. And I came, as your friend.”

Scott let out a long breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. He reached out a hand and Kip stepped forward to take it. “I do want you here, more than anything.”

Not more than anything, Kip thought with a pang, but it was a nice fantasy.

Chapter 2: Scott

By the time they got home, it was mid afternoon and Scott was exhausted. His head felt like someone was constantly whacking him with a hammer and his entire body was the kind of dog-tired that came on the heels of double overtime.

“Let’s get you in bed,” Kip said, which usually would have led to Scott kissing him, hard, and pulling his shirt off. The fact that he was too tired for that was terrible.

Scott shuffled his way toward the bedroom, Kip half supporting him under one shoulder. Abruptly, Kip stopped, pulling them up short. When Scott looked at him to see what was wrong, he was staring at the wall. Or a painting on the wall at least. Scott didn’t remember it being there. One more hole in his memory.

“Did you— Is this the Mario Albrega?” Kip asked, his voice sounding choked.

Had Scott gotten it for him as a surprise? Fuck, he couldn’t remember. Fortunately, Kip recollected himself without waiting for a response and propelled them through to the bedroom. He helped peel Scott out of the post-practice clothes Carter had transported from Scott’s locker to the hospital and pressed gently down on Scott’s shoulder to get him horizontal.

Scott leaned up for a kiss but Kip didn’t give it to him. Was he upset that Scott had gotten hurt? Huff had mentioned Laura went kind of sad and squirrelly whenever he got a significant injury. Scott hadn’t gotten more than cuts and bruises since he’d been with Kip.

“I’m going to make a snack,” Kip said. “Just rest, okay?”

Scott collapsed back against the pillows, unsettled, but sleep stole over him before his brain could try to puzzle out why.

-

When Scott woke up, Kip wasn’t there.

Part of him wanted to fall right back to sleep but he wanted to see Kip more so he levered himself out of bed and walked toward the living room, one hand on the wall to help keep his balance. After his last concussion he’d tripped ass over elbows due to overconfidence.

“Kip?” Scott called quietly. The lights in the living room were dimmed. Kip was stretched out on the sectional looking soft and tired. His eyes blinked sleepily at Scott. “Scott, hi,” he said, strangely awkward. He sat up and ran a hand through his tousled curls. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” Scott said, which was maybe a lie but he didn’t want Kip to worry. “Why are you sleeping on the couch?”

“I didn’t want to mess up the guest room,” Kip said.

“Why would you sleep in the guest room?” Scott asked, feeling slow and stupid.

Kip stared at him. “Hold on, let me do a quick neuro check on you,” he said, reaching for the discharge instructions the hospital had given them. His hands were shaking. God, Scott must have really scared him. Crashing into the boards was never a pretty sight. “Can you tell me where you are?”

“Home,” Scott said. “With you.”

“Do you remember getting hurt yesterday?”

“Not the details,” Scott said. Just the feel of ice against his chin from when he’d been on the ground. “I remember Carter telling me about it though.”

“Scott,” Kip said, his eyes large and sad in his pale face, “do you know what today’s date is?”

The answer seemed important to him so Scott tried to dredge it out of the swiss cheese of his recent memory. “November?” he said. “End of November?”

Kip closed his eyes. “Scott, it’s March 30th,” he said gently. “We broke up in December.”

Scott felt his heart plummet. That couldn’t be true. “No,” Scott said. “No, Kip—”

“I’m sorry,” Kip said. “I knew you were having some memory difficulties but I didn’t think you’d totally forgotten. I can find someone else to come stay with you while you’re recovering if you want.”

“What did I do?” Scott asked, agonized, because he must have done something. He’d never have been the one to initiate the break up.

Kip reached for his hand and Scott gripped it, tight. Maybe it had been a misunderstanding, something he could fix. “It wasn’t your fault, Scott,” Kip said. “Both of us had things that we weren’t willing to give up. I couldn’t keep lying to everyone: my friends, my dad. And you weren’t ready to let go of the secrecy.”

Scott’s breathing felt off; his lungs hurt like coach had just sent them through endurance drills. “I’m sorry,” he said. He’d wanted to keep Kip for himself but he hadn’t meant to keep him closed up in a box, to be a wall between him and everyone else he loved.

“It’s okay,” Kip said, because he was kind like that and—

“And you still came to the hospital? You’re still here, just because I asked?”

“I still care about you, Scott,” Kip said. “I can be here for you for the week, just…not like things were.”

“Right,” Scott said, trying to keep his voice steady. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten the collapse of all his happiness, that he’d never get to kiss Kip again. “Thank you.”

“I did make you a smoothie though,” Kip said, squeezing Scott’s hand before he let it go and moved toward the kitchen. “Strawberry since you didn’t have any blueberries. And you’re not supposed to watch TV for a couple days but I’ll turn on the game and you can listen to it.”

Right, Scott thought. He was probably missing a game. Two at least while he went through concussion protocol. “Are we playing Chicago?” he asked, trying to remember. “How many points do we have?”

“I don’t remember exactly,” Kip said, handing Scott a glass with his strawberry smoothie, “but you guys have been doing really well. I think the playoffs are a sure thing. Drink your smoothie and I’ll find the game.”

They were playing Montreal. Fuck, Scott should be there. Four minutes into first period and they were already down a goal. Probably Shane Hollander’s fault. Looking at the screen, seeing all the players whizzing around the ice, made his head start to pound again.

“Hey,” Kip said. “You’re off screens for the next two days. Just listen to the commentary.” He grabbed a pillow from behind himself and set it against his thigh. “Here, lie down and close your eyes so you’re not tempted.”

Scott did as he was told, the back of his head resting on the pillow. Before, Kip would have let Scott put his head directly in his lap. He’d have let Scott turn, halfway into whatever they were watching, and mouth at his cock through his pants until he said, “Oh my God, fuck this,” and ignored the TV in favor of Scott sucking him off. Scott wished it was still before.

On TV another buzzer sounded. “And another one for Shane Hollander,” the announcer said breathlessly. “Not even halfway into the first period and already on hat trick watch. He has been red hot lately. And with Scott Hunter out with a head injury, does New York have an answer for him?”

“You’ll get it back,” Kip said optimistically.

But they didn’t get it back until late in the second period. The agony of listening to it was narrowly eclipsed by the way Kip had forgotten himself for a minute and started stroking his hand through Scott’s hair only to snatch it away with a mumbled, “Sorry.”

The Admirals lost 3 to 1 and Scott’s only solace was that Hollander hadn’t gotten his hat trick. Hayden Pike had gotten the final goal in the third when Bennett had been pulled so New York could try for a final push with the extra attacker.

“You’re playing those assholes in Detroit on Sunday,” Kip said, looking at his phone.

Scott had always thought it was funny that when he was getting Kip into hockey, Kip had decided the team he hated most was Detroit. “Okay, but why?” he’d asked, laughing, as he pressed kisses into Kip’s neck.

“I don’t like the way they skate,” Kip had said primly and Scott had kissed him some more. New York hadn’t lost to Detroit since.

“Fuck Detroit,” Scott said and Kip laughed.

“Are you hungry? I could make pancakes or something,” Kip said.

Scott’s nutrition plan only allowed for pancakes when he was practically at death’s door, last rites. Being this close to Kip and knowing that he’d lost him seemed close enough. “Yeah,” he said, “that’d be great.”

-

Carter called after the game. Kip’s phone, not Scott’s. “Hi Kip!” he said. “Calling to check in on Scott. We’re at the airport now.”

“He’s right here,” Kip said. “I’ve got you on speaker.”

“Hold on, Huff’s coming over too,” Carter said.

“Hunter, how you holding up?” Huff’s voice said over the line.

There were a lot of ways Scott could answer that but no one needed to hear them. They needed to hear him say, “All right. Tough loss tonight. Tell Jalo I said nice shot on goal.”

“Oh God, I was hoping you didn’t watch,” Carter said. “Don’t worry, we’ll win all the rest. I’ll tell the guys I promised you.”

“Make sure you fuck up Detroit at least,” Scott said. “Kip hates Detroit.”

“I was gonna do it for the points,” Huff said, “but sure, I’ll do it for Kip too.”

“Appreciate it,” Kip said and Scott laughed. The other side of the phone went oddly quiet. It wasn’t that strange to hear him laugh, was it? Scott wondered. Although, maybe it was now if he’d been broken up with Kip for the last four months.

“Everybody sends best wishes,” Huff said, ending the awkward offbeat. “Carter’s looking after your rooks for you.”

“Thanks,” Scott said. He always tried to keep an extra eye on the latest crop of rookies, who were typically eager but also scared out of their goddamn minds to be playing top level hockey. Half of them were only eighteen or nineteen, just kids. Scott had taken Andersson and Schiebe under his wing this year. Schiebe had actually gotten some good minutes tonight since Scott being injured left a gap in the line up.

“All right, we’ll let you get back to sitting on your ass and trying not to go crazy,” Huff said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Scott said, and then, more sincere, “Thanks for checking in.” He’d have done it for anyone on the team but he was the captain. Somehow it felt different that they’d done it for him.

“Bye, Kip!” Carter said.

“Bye, guys,” Kip returned and hung up the line. He looked at Scott and smiled. “They’re nice.”

It wasn’t a dig but Scott felt it like a punch. He could have at least introduced Kip to the guys as his friend. He could’ve at least let Kip introduce him to his circle as a friend. Scott’s head started to pound as the thought ricocheted. A memory came back to him with crushing clarity: Kip in the new Hugo Boss tuxedo Scott had ordered for him, asking Scott to come to his birthday party, just as a friend, and the way Scott had said he couldn’t do it, as if someone were holding a gun to his head. The way Kip had looked at him, not angry, sad, and gone home for the night for the first time in months.

That was what he’d done, Scott thought. That was the exact moment when he’d lost Kip.

“Hey, hey, Scott, are you okay?” Kip said. “Do you feel nauseous?”

He did, but not from the head injury. “I think I need to lie down for awhile,” Scott said and made his way, slowly, back to the bedroom so he could lie in the dark like he had for so many years, alone.

-

Kip was wearing Scott’s red New York Admirals hoodie and it was fucking with Scott’s concentration worse than the head injury.

He loved it whenever Kip wore anything of his, but now it wasn’t a boyfriend thing. Kip was wearing Scott’s hoodie specifically because he wasn’t Scott’s boyfriend; he didn’t have any spare clothes here anymore. Scott had checked the two drawers he’d cleared out for Kip’s use. They were both empty.

“Sorry,” Kip said, when he caught Scott staring at him. “Did you want to wear this today? Can I borrow something else?”

“It’s fine,” Scott said. “Are you cold?” He went over to check the thermostat. It was back down to 66. Scott turned it up to 68 where it belonged. The fact that Kip hadn’t felt comfortable to change it hurt like an ache.

When they were living together, Scott had caught Kip rubbing his arms for circulation a few times. “Do you want me to turn up the heat?” he’d asked. Scott had always run warm.

“Hmm,” Kip had said, looking up from his laptop. “No, it’s okay.”

Okay wasn’t enough. Scott wanted Kip to be perfectly and deliriously happy here. He’d moved over to the thermostat and bumped it up a few degrees.

“Scott,” Kip had said, fondly beleaguered, “I can wear a sweater. It’s fine.”

Scott actually loved seeing Kip in soft sweaters and hoodies but he wanted him to be comfortable more. “Oh, so if I turn this up even higher, will you strip for me then?” Scott had asked, leering playfully, and Kip had thrown his laptop aside and proved that Scott didn’t need to do much of anything to get Kip to strip for him.

“It’s okay,” Kip said, watching Scott with a strange expression on his face. “Could I borrow some socks though?”

“Sure,” Scott said, heading back to the bedroom.

Opening his sock drawer made an odd thudding sound. Moving aside his compression socks, Scott discovered an Olympic medal at the bottom. Fuck, Scott thought, lifting up the medal. They’d won gold.

He closed his eyes and tried to call back the memory. Stars on his shoulders. Ice cream. “I’d show up for anybody that brave,” Carter’s voice said like an echo and Scott felt it like a current through his whole body. They’d played the final against Canada and Scott had scored the game winning goal. He remembered how Carter had run into him in a hug and even John Blackwell from the Tampa Vipers, who they usually hated, had joined in the celebration. Scott remembered thinking, I wonder if Kip was watching.

Chapter 3: Kip

Scott seemed to be doing better. He was still sleeping a lot and generally low energy but his memory gaps were clearly filling in and he could answer all the neuro orientation questions easily. One of the team medics had called to go through a verbal assessment with him and recommended light activity.

Kip cracked open his laptop. He’d missed a lecture on Van Gogh but the required reading material had been posted online so he was still basically on track. The problem was he had an essay on the cubism movement due in three days and if he didn’t get started there was no way he’d be able to finish in time. He needed some reference books from the library but he didn’t want to leave Scott.

“What’s wrong?” Scott asked.

Kip looked up, surprised. Scott must have just finished his shower. His hair was still damp and the collar of his shirt.

“Just something I need to do for class,” Kip said.

“Class?” Scott asked.

“Yeah,” Kip said. He hadn’t told Scott about applying for master’s programs. It would have been humiliating enough for his friends to know if he hadn’t gotten in, let alone Scott who was pretty much the most successful person Kip knew. “I’m doing a master’s in Art History at NYU now.”

“That’s great,” Scott said, sounding genuinely pleased for him. “Congratulations.”

“Mm,” Kip said, tilting his hand, “maybe hold onto them until I actually manage to graduate.”

Scott took a step toward the hall. “I can go into the bedroom if you need to focus.”

“It’s okay, I can’t write my essay until I get some books out of the library anyway.”

“I’m fine to be here alone for a few hours if you have to go out,” Scott said.

“No,” Kip said. “I want to be here if you need anything.” He’d read the discharge instructions about fifty times and they’d been full of scary shit like ‘if the patient experiences seizures or double vision, return to the hospital immediately’.

“Do you know the exact books you need?” Scott asked. “I can call one of the Admirals PAs and see if they could pick them up.”

“You have team PAs?” What did that even mean? There were a million support personnel that orbited the hockey team—coaches, nutritionists, physical therapists—but Scott had never mentioned personal assistants.

“They help out with odd stuff,” Scott said. “Sending uniforms for cleaning, organizing team media. I’m sure this wouldn’t be the weirdest thing anyone’s ever asked for.”

Kip chewed his lip. He didn’t want to be the annoying guy who made some poor, overworked assistant schlep down to NYU, but he was sort of helping the team by keeping an eye on Scott so maybe it was quid pro quo. “If you really think they wouldn’t mind, that would be great. I can put the books I need on hold.”

“Great. I’ll call the office,” Scott said. He seemed relieved to be able to do something for Kip.

Kip reserved the books through the library catalog and went to get his wallet out of the bowl by the door. At least he could give the PA a proper tip.

-

Three hours later, there was a knock on Scott’s door.

“Hi, I’m Angela,” the woman at the door said cheerfully. “I’ve got the book delivery for Scott Hunter.”

“Thank you so much,” Kip said, taking the Admirals branded tote bag from her. “Scott’s passed out in front of a Real Housewives marathon or I’m sure he’d thank you himself.”

“Scott Hunter watches Real Housewives?” Angela asked gleefully.

“It’s that or Criminal Minds,” Kip said. Scott and his serial killer obsession. “The man contains multitudes.” He’d been trying to read Devil in the White City earlier before Kip took it away from him and set him up with the audiobook version instead. Scott seemed fine with screens now but reading still gave him a headache. “Oh, he did want me to make sure you got this though,” Kip said, reaching into his pocket for a folded stack of twenties. He should’ve known that Scott was already going to provide a generous service tip.

“Wow, okay, thanks,” Angela said, tucking the cash into her purse. “How’s he doing? Everyone’s been worried.”

“Still some headaches but he’s doing good,” Kip said. “He’s going to be watching the game against Columbus tonight.”

Angela nodded. “Well thanks for looking after him. Let him know everyone at the office said hello and we hope he’s feeling better soon.”

“I will,” Kip said. “Thanks again.”

He closed the door and carted the books over to Scott’s insanely long kitchen table. It offered plenty of space for Kip to lay out all his notes. He spent some time reading the chapters about Picasso and Metzinger and Chagall before starting an outline for the essay.

An hour and a half later, Kip groaned and rolled his neck to stretch his cramped muscles. His eye caught on the pictures on the wall of the kitchen. Scott’s parents. They were both beautiful, dark-haired and smiling. It must sting for Scott to look at them and know that he’d lost them.

Still, even though things were over, Kip wished he had just one picture of him and Scott together. A few candids to remember him by. In retrospect, rock bottom for Kip during their relationship had been when he’d downloaded a screenshot of Scott’s Gillette ad to his phone because every time he’d tried to take a real picture of him Scott had shied away.

On the couch, Scott made sounds like he was starting to wake up and Kip quickly blinked away the tears that had sprung up in his eyes.

“Kip,” Scott said, still sounding rough with sleep, “do you want me to order Chinese for dinner?”

“Yeah,” Kip said. “That sounds great.”

After, they watched the Admirals deliver a resounding 4 to 0 shut out to Columbus and Scott yawned and made his way to bed while Kip sat back in front of his computer to keep working on his essay. The criticism section was shit and he was relieved when his phone rang, flashing Carter Vaughn across the screen.

“Hi Vaughn,” Kip answered. “Nice win tonight.”

“Thanks, Kip. I’ve got Benny and Huff with me too.”

“I don’t have Scott for you unfortunately,” Kip said. “He’s trying to get his sleep schedule back on track so he went to bed early. I can have him give you a call tomorrow if you want.”

“Nah, that’s okay,” Vaughn said. “Mostly just calling to make sure he isn’t in a ditch somewhere. When we were rookies he once tried to drive to practice with a fever of 103. Ended up somewhere in West Seneca.” That’s right, Kip thought. Scott and Vaughn had come up together in Buffalo.

“I can confidently assure you that he is not in West Seneca,” Kip said, dryly. He expected Vaughn to wish him a goodnight and hang up but Bennett’s voice came over the line.

“How are you doing, Kip? Sorry you’ve been trapped in the apartment for four days.”

“I’m good,” Kip said. “Just working on some things for school.”

“Are you a teacher?”

Kip laughed. “God, no. I’m doing a master’s degree in Art History. Hopefully I can work in a museum or a gallery someday.”

“I should introduce you to my wife so you can go to the Met together,” Huff said. “She always calls me a philistine when we go. Just because my favorite room is the cafe? What’s wrong with that?”

“Never speak to me again,” Kip said and Huff laughed.

“Yeah, you’d get along. Scott’s probably never been to a museum that didn’t have hockey memorabilia in it. How did the two of you meet?”

“Hmm,” Kip said, his mind drifting to the first time he’d seen Scott, sweaty and gorgeous in front of the bar, “oh, he came into the smoothie shop where I work. And then he scored a goal for the first time in awhile so he kept coming back. Said something about science.”

“Holy shit!” Vaughn said. “You fixed Scott’s game! I can’t believe he was holding out on me that there’s a magic smoothie bar in New York. I haven’t scored in three games. Can I come get one when we’re back?”

“If you’re willing to look past the deeply stupid naming conventions, sure,” Kip said.

“Nice. Okay, we’ll see you in a couple days then.”

“All right. Hey, fuck up Nashville tomorrow for Scott.”

“You got it,” Vaughn said and hung up.

Kip looked back at the blinking cursor on his essay and shut his laptop with a click. He could finish it tomorrow.

-

Beating Nashville in overtime officially scored the Admirals a playoff slot and when the final buzzer sounded, Scott grabbed Kip in a tight, exuberant hug. Kip let himself have it. It was nice to be in Scott’s arms again, even if it was only for a minute.

“Sorry,” Scott said, after, coughing awkwardly.

“It’s fine,” Kip said. “I’m really proud of you.”

They both went to bed after that, Scott to the master and Kip to the guest room, but Kip found sleep elusive. The team would be back tomorrow and he’d kept an eye on Scott longer than the medical instructions had even required. There was no reason for him to be here anymore. Nothing had changed. He still loved Scott, and he still couldn’t stand to be with him only halfway.

“I’m gonna go home,” Kip said in the morning, packing up his books and laptop so he didn’t have to look at Scott for a minute. But when he did look, Scott’s face was still stricken. He had the same expression he’d had months ago when Kip said he needed to go home after the St. Thomas fundraiser, when he’d implied that home wasn’t there with Scott and wasn’t going to be.

“I—yeah,” Scott said. “Thanks for—thanks for being here.”

“Of course,” Kip said softly. “Good luck, Scott. I mean that.” And he didn’t only mean it about the playoffs. He hoped Scott got all the things he wanted someday, when he felt like he could have them.

So, yeah, Kip didn’t expect to see Scott again any time soon. Not unless it was on television. It was something of a shock for him to look up from his Impressionism textbook a week and a half later to find Scott standing just where he’d stood the first time Kip saw him, at the counter of Straw+Berry.

“Hi. We, um—we need some good luck,” he said, waving a hand behind him to where Vaughn and Bennett were standing.

“I’ll do my best,” Kip said with a smile. “Hi Vaughn. Hi Bennett. I know Scott’s order but what can I get you?”

“I’ll have whatever Scott gets,” Bennett said and Scott’s face morphed into a hilariously offended look, like that was his off menu smoothie from Kip. Scott Hunter’s patented Blue Moon Over Brooklyn.

“Sure thing,” Kip said. “Vaughn?”

“Big Apple Green Apple,” Vaughn said. “Wow, you weren’t kidding about the names.”

“Yeah,” Kip said, laughing, and went to get the blenders started. Vaughn and Bennett both tipped him 100%, just like Scott. “Do you all do this on every bill?”

“Service workers are the backbone of this city,” Bennett said, taking a sip of his smoothie.

“We’ve got to get to practice,” Scott said. He was leaning forward on the counter, his face only a foot from Kip’s. “Are you interested in coming to the game tonight? My seats are still open.”

On the game broadcasts Kip had noticed them sitting empty after he and Scott broke up; he didn’t re-sell them. The first playoff game of the year. They’d be the only empty seats in the arena. It made Kip sad as hell to think about.

Kip could imagine what Elena would say if he asked her to go with him. Babe. But Elena wasn’t staring Scott Hunter in his sad, pleading brown eyes.

“Yeah,” Kip said. “I’d love to be there.”

-

The Admirals won their first playoff game against Pittsburgh handily and on the next game day, Scott, Vaughn, and Bennett were back in Straw+Berry, this time also toting Huff and another man Kip didn’t recognize. That probably meant he was one of the slightly less skilled players who didn’t get much ice time.

“Sammy really wants to score his first goal in the playoffs,” Vaughn said. “Help him pop his cherry, Kip, please?” He and Sammy both looked at Kip entreatingly.

“I make no promises about any magic, but I will make you a—,” Kip sighed, remembering the name of their cherry based smoothie, “Central Park Sour.” He started up the blenders, trying not to look too obviously at Scott and the way his abs showed through his tight Under Armour shirt.

Scott sipped his Blue Moon Over Brooklyn at the counter and glanced at Kip and then away. “Would you like tonight’s tickets?” he asked.

“Yes,” Kip said. Elena would call him a glutton for punishment but she’d still be there beside him, eating popcorn and letting Kip grab her hand whenever Scott got checked.

When the Admirals finally lost on home ice, in game six, Kip thought it might put a stop to the routine but Scott, Vaughn, and all the rest crowded into Straw+Berry on the morning of game seven.

“It’s my fault,” Vaughn moaned about the previous game’s loss. “Gloria came to visit me and I couldn’t keep it in my pants. She’s so gorgeous, I’m sorry.”

Kip looked at Scott and wondered, if they were still together, if Scott would have genuinely abstained from fucking him for almost two months. He kind of didn’t think so.

“It’s okay, Carter,” Scott said, patting him on the shoulder. “We’ll finish this thing tonight.” He looked at Kip and pulled two tickets out of his pocket. “If you want to come.” His hand brushed warmly against Kip’s when he handed them across the counter.

Fuck, Kip thought. Fuck.

-

catrina b @snappleluver · April 16, 2014

why is my juice bar suddenly a hockey hangout? not mad about it, just confused as hell.

[Photo of a clear, 16oz plastic cup with straw. The cup has the logo Straw+Berry branded on it and is half filled with red liquid. Eric Bennett #30 is signed on it in black Sharpie.]

2 replies  15 retweets  124 likes

💕hannah NYC💕 @puckmeup · April 18, 2014

came to see if i could spot a hockey player but the smoothies are lowkey good

0 replies  6 retweets  51 likes

cameron @scrape_sky · April 18, 2014

you can order through the app so you don’t have to say the pretentious af names

💕hannah NYC💕 @puckmeup · April 18, 2014

came to see if i could spot a hockey player but the smoothies are lowkey good

0 replies  0 retweets  2 likes

samantha 🍒 @staywell · April 19, 2014

smoothies aside there is an extremely cute barista here btw. shot my shot but unfortunately for your girl he is gay. @bye_in_ny come try your luck

3 replies  3 retweets  12 likes

Chapter 4: Scott

If Scott saw one more guy write his number down on a survey card and hand it to Kip, he was going to snap.

They were two games into the second round of the playoffs and the smoothie shop, which had always been kind of barren, had somehow become a thriving cultural mecca for half the twenty-something gay men in New York. Kip seemed as bemused as Scott but he’d taken the cards.

“Hey, man, you good?” Carter asked, looking at Scott with trepidation.

“I’m fine,” Scott said.

“Okay,” Carter agreed, appeasingly, “do you want to maybe loosen your grip on your smoothie though? It’s about to explode.”

Scott looked down and saw that his hand was clenched around the thin plastic of the cup, forcing the liquid up against the lid. Consciously, he let go.

Carter, Huff, and Eric hadn’t even blinked when they learned Kip was gay earlier in the week. He’d turned down a post-shift coffee date offer from a woman and elaborated, for politeness sake, that she was lovely but he didn’t swing that way. Scott thought of what Carter had said in Sochi, about how he’d never heard Huff or Eric chirp using overtly homophobic language. Maybe he could tell them. Maybe it would be fine.

It was the maybe that made it so painful.

They were in the middle of the playoffs and Scott could feel it in the way the team flowed together, effortless. They could do this. This could be the year they won it all. He shouldn’t do anything to derail things now.

Eric, who’d been giving what seemed to be some kind of seminar on goalie interference to a set of wide-eyed twinks, had paused and was now looking at Scott with his intense goalie eyes. Scott hardly ever got anything past him when he had that look. Fuck.

“Let’s get to practice,” Scott said, and hurried Carter out the door.

-

New York lost the third game of the series, on the road in Tampa, and Scott was trying to keep hope alive for this one.

Carter put his phone in front of Scott’s face and Scott blinked at the photo of a pale green colored smoothie. “I had Kip make my lucky smoothie for this game,” Carter said.

Scott stared at him. “We’re a thousand miles from New York right now.”

“No, but the luck could be just that he made it for me. I don’t necessarily have to drink it,” Carter insisted.

“You think?” Huff said, consideringly, and pulled out his phone. “I’m going to ask him to make mine too.”

Scott swallowed thickly. The fact that his friends knew Kip, thought of him, texted him, was doing things to his feelings.

“Are you going to ask Kip to make your smoothie, Scott?” Eric asked.

“No,” Scott said, the word feeling scraped out of his throat. He didn’t text Kip anymore. The last time he’d started to it had devolved into a paragraph of begging I love yous that he’d had to spend a full minute tapping the back arrow to erase.

Eric was looking at him with his intense goalie eyes again and Scott turned aside to lace up his skates. He didn’t need a smoothie anyway, he still had the blue banana socks Kip had given him layered underneath the grey sweat-wicking Under Armour ones he was paid to rep.

They won the game 3 to 2 even though Scott played like shit and when he came over for the traditional goalie headbump of celebration, Eric said, “Can I talk to you later?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Scott said and skated off the ice to go do media interviews. By the time he got back to the dressing room, it was mostly empty, only a handful of guys finishing showers and packing up to go back to the hotel.

Eric was there, looking at something on his phone, and when Scott came in he tipped his head toward the hall. Scott followed him into what looked like a PT room and watched as he closed the door behind them. “Is everything okay?” Scott asked. Eric could be ominous about completely innocuous things but this felt like some kind of intervention.

“Scott,” Eric said, “you know we all like Kip, right?”

“Sure,” Scott said, confused.

“It just seems like maybe you like Kip,” Eric said delicately. Scott felt his heart rate jump, his mind flashing blank so that he almost missed Eric adding, “And I want you to know that’s okay. It’s fine if you do.”

Scott laughed. He couldn’t help it. It was that or crying. Maybe he was doing both, the tears starting in his eyes didn’t feel like mirth.

“Scott…,” Eric said.

“I do like Kip,” Scott said, now that Eric had given him the go ahead. It felt like releasing the cap on a shaken up bottle of soda, the pressure explosive once finally allowed to escape. “I love him.”

Eric nodded. “Okay, cool. I know the MLH is, like, shit about this kind of thing but I think Kip likes you back and you could keep it on the down low.”

Scott felt a swell of grateful warmth before it spiked up into pain. “Thanks, Eric,” he said. “Really. But, the thing is, I already lost Kip.”

“What do you—,” Eric started but then the door to the room banged open and Carter said, “Hey guys, I was looking for you. Are you ready to go back to the hotel?”

“This is a private conversation, Carter,” Eric snapped, moving to block Scott and his red eyes and probably fucked up expression from view, as protective as he was in front of the goal out on the ice.

“No,” Scott said, “It’s okay. I want to tell him. And Huff. Is Huff out there somewhere too?” If he was going to finally do this, he only wanted to do it once.

“Tell us what?” Carter asked, then he got a look at Scott’s face and said, “I’ll go find Huff,” and disappeared back out the door.

“Why the fuck are we having a convention in the Tampa physical therapy room,” Huff asked while Eric closed the door and dragged a chair in front of it for good measure.

“That’s a fire hazard,” Scott said.

“Shut up, Scott,” Eric said. “Actually, don’t shut up. Tell us what’s actually going on with you for once.”

Scott sighed and jumped up to sit on the exam table in the middle of the room because it was awkward as hell, all of them just standing there in a circle. He clenched his hands around the edge of the table and took a deep breath. He was going to do this. “I’m gay.”

“Okay,” Eric said after a beat. “Great. We appreciate you trusting us with that and we support you.” He was looking at Carter and Huff, who had frozen, mouths half open, like if they said something otherwise he was going to go find his skates and cut them with them.

“I—yeah, of course,” Carter said, recovering first. “Just…really?”

“Yeah,” Scott said. “I had it, you know, under control or whatever but then I met someone.”

“Wait, wait, it’s Kip, right?” Carter said.

“Yeah, it was Kip,” Scott said, hating the past tense of it all. It was a relief to finally tell his friends, to have them not react negatively, but it just underlined the fact that he’d been too afraid to do it back when it still might have mattered in salvaging his relationship with Kip.

“Fuck yes!” Carter said, pumping a fist in the air. How much he liked Kip was actually kind of hilarious. Scott hoped he liked Carter’s new actress girlfriend half as much when he finally met her.

“I’m glad you told us, Scott,” Huff said, earnest, and then he pinched his fingers almost together and said, “I was this close to setting Kip up with my brother-in-law.”

Scott laughed but it was a twisted, broken kind of sound. “I already fucked it up with Kip,” Scott said, and spilled out the whole sorry story of five months ago, how perfect it had been until it all fell apart. “I tried to take him to an art gallery once and ended up having a panic attack because people might see us out in public. I wouldn’t even go to his birthday party as a friend. We were dating for three months and I don’t have a single picture of us together. Who does that to someone and calls it love? Thinks it could be enough?”

“Scott…,” Huff sighed. He’d migrated over to sit by Scott on the exam table at some point and he reached out to pat Scott on the shoulder.

“I’m sure Kip understands why it would be hard for you to come out,” Eric said.

“Yeah, man,” Carter said. “And he obviously still loves you. You guys could still work things out.”

“He doesn’t still love me,” Scott said, because Kip was still kind to him but he’d gone on with his life. It had been five months now and soon it would be six and then seven and eight and Scott would just be one more memory.

Huff and Eric were both looking at him like he’d taken another concussion out on the ice. Carter scoffed. “Man, none of my exes would have showed up four months post break up to tenderly nurse me back to health and then keep coming to my games. You should at least talk to him.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Scott said, feeling a tiny spring of hope. Kip would at least be glad to know that Scott coming out to his friends had gone well.

“Great,” Huff said. “Can we go back to the fucking hotel now?”

-

They beat Tampa in game five the next night to win the second playoff round on road ice. Half the team slept on the plane home the next morning, happy and hung over from celebrating, but Scott sat awake in his seat, his heart beating loud in his ears. Maybe he could come out. His best friends were with him. Even if things went to shit with hockey, he’d still have the family that mattered. And he might still be able to have Kip.

Kip hadn’t asked Scott for everything, the whole terrifying media explosion that would come with a public announcement. He’d just asked not to have to lie to the people who mattered to him. But he deserved everything. Scott wanted Kip to be able to live in his apartment and not have to check the ring camera before he opened the door to anyone. He wanted to walk through Central Park holding Kip’s hand and bring him to the team events that all the other partners went to. He wanted a whole future.

Maybe he’d missed his chance. Maybe he’d humiliate himself pouring his heart out and Kip would let him down gently, but it was worth the risk. When they landed on the tarmac in New York, Scott took his phone out of airplane mode and pulled up Kip’s name.

Hi, he texted. Can we talk?

Chapter 5: Kip

Chapter Notes

The end here is very similar to the book so consider your tolerance for potential spoilers before you read!

Hi. Can we talk?

Kip stared at the message from Scott. ‘Can we talk’ was usually preliminary to a break up conversation but they’d already broken up so how could things really get worse he reasoned as he typed a reply.

Sure. I can come over to yours after my shift ends in a couple hours?

Scott immediately acknowledged the response with a heart and then just as quickly changed it to a thumbs up while Kip’s heart jumped into his throat.

Kip managed to get through his shift with the help of deep breathing techniques but they failed the second Scott swung open his door for him. He was as perfectly, amazingly gorgeous as always. The thicker beard from the playoffs no shaving “science” looked incredible on him. “Hi,” Kip said, eloquently.

“Hi,” Scott said, guiding him inside, “thanks for coming.”

“Sure,” Kip said. He took off his shoes and went over to settle on the couch. This seemed like a conversation that might require sitting down. “I saw you’re into the conference finals. Congratulations.”

“Yeah,” Scott said, coming over to sit beside him. “Yeah, thanks.”

Kip missed the way Scott used to put his arm around him when they sat like this, shoulder to shoulder, but that was over and he should get this—whatever this was—over with too. “What did you want to talk about?”

Scott’s eyes brightened and Kip felt himself smile in reflex. Good news, then. That was a relief. “I, um, I told Eric and Carter and Huff about me,” he said. “And about us. Us before, I mean.”

“You told them you’re gay?” Kip clarified.

Scott nodded. “Yeah. And they were—they were really good about it, Kip.”

“Scott, that’s great,” Kip said, pulling him into a hug. After getting to know Scott’s friends, he hadn’t expected them to react negatively but it was obviously still a huge step for Scott to tell anyone.

Scott kept his arms clutched around Kip. “It is great. I feel, I don’t know, lighter maybe. Better.” He leaned back a little so he could look Kip in the eyes and added, “And it made me think maybe I can do it all the way, that I don’t have to wait until hockey is over. Maybe I can come out now. If I still have a reason to.”

“Scott,” Kip sighed, because this was what he’d wanted, what he still wanted if he was honest with himself. To love Scott out in the open, free of the secrecy and the ache that came with it. But Kip didn’t want to be some ultimatum, to force Scott to make a choice in extremis that he might regret later, that he might come to resent.

“If I come out—,” Scott said.

“Scott,” Kip said gently. “Scott, this isn’t your last chance.” It hurt to say it but it hurt worse to think that Scott might do this and then discover that it wasn’t worth it. “You’re gorgeous, successful, sweet. Whenever you decide to come out, there will be guys lined up down the block for you.”

“But this is my last chance with you,” Scott said. “And you’re who I want. You get that, right? You get that I’m not just looking for somebody?” He put a hand on the hinge of Kip’s jaw. “Am I too late? Did you meet someone else?”

Kip snorted. “Sure, in the middle of my master’s work and two jobs I also have a completely thriving social life.” He hadn’t been out anywhere besides The Kingfisher in months.

“I saw how many guys gave you their numbers at work,” Scott said.

Kip had noticed Scott noticing that odd week there. “Well I didn’t call any of them. I was still kind of nursing a broken heart,” Kip said. “And besides, who tries to pick someone up while they’re at work. Rude,” he added, teasing.

Scott was looking at him with his shiny, vulnerable eyes. The way he’d looked at Kip over the breakfast bar after their first night together, when he’d spilled out all the things he wanted, too intense, too soon, and Kip had realized that he was already half in love, that he’d wanted to give Scott everything. He still did.

Kip leaned forward and Scott met him halfway, the kiss immediately exuberant and intense. Scott really didn’t know any other way and Kip was fine with that. He put his hands on Scott’s waist and pulled him closer.

“Yes, I’m still in love with you,” Kip said when they finally had to stop to gasp for air. “Just in case that wasn’t clear.”

“You could make it a little clearer,” Scott said, leaning down to kiss him again.

-

Kip blinked awake and checked his phone. 9:16 AM. Beside him, Scott was still asleep, his face mashed into the pillow. He’d spent the night before clinging to Kip like a koala which was sweet but also vaguely heartbreaking.

Kip slipped quietly out of bed and came back with Scott’s iPad so he could pass the time and still be there when Scott woke up. He was scrolling through the New York Admirals page of the MLH shop when Scott yawned and reached for him.

“Good morning. What are you doing?” Scott asked muzzily, propping himself up on the headboard so he could look at the screen over Kip’s shoulder.

“I’m deciding whether I want to buy Bennett or Vaughn’s jersey to wear to your games.”

“Umm, excuse me, why are you not getting my jersey?” Scott said, mock offended, before he pressed a kiss to Kip’s jaw.

“Well,” Kip said, teasingly, “kind of cliche to get the captain’s jersey isn’t it?”

“Get Eric’s,” Scott said, moving his lips down Kip’s neck. “Carter would be insufferable about it.”

Yeah, Kip thought. He’d been leaning that way. Vaughn had a gorgeous starlet girlfriend who’d wear his jersey to any games she could fit into her film shooting schedule. Bennett, on the other hand, was going through what sounded like a coldly brutal separation from his wife. He’d told Kip a little about it when the shop was slow and Kip thought he could use a little pick me up. He could tell from the way Scott smiled when Kip showed up to sit in his seats that it was different to have someone there clearly cheering for you as a person than as a player.

“There is something I’d like to wear your jersey for though if I could borrow one,” Kip said with a smile.

Scott kissed him on the shoulder and got up, eager. “How about my Olympics jersey?” He fished the red, white, and blue Team USA jersey off a hanger in the back of the closet and tossed it over to Kip.

“Thank you,” Kip said mildly, folding it up neatly and setting it on the bed.

Scott looked a little disappointed that Kip hadn’t put it on immediately but Kip let the moment stretch. After they had breakfast, when Scott stepped out to get his mail from the box outside, Kip slipped back into the bedroom and stripped out of his t-shirt, replacing it with Scott’s jersey.

He was waiting in the hall outside the bedroom when Scott came back. “Scott,” Kip said, drawing his attention and Scott’s eyes went wide as he took in Kip in his jersey, the captain’s C distinct on the left shoulder. The fit of the jersey was long enough that only the very edge of Kip’s black boxer briefs peeked out beneath it.

Scott literally dropped the mail on the floor which was flattering. He strode toward Kip and boosted him up in his arms, Kip’s legs wrapping automatically around his hips. “Fuck,” Scott breathed against his neck. “You’re so beautiful.”

He carried Kip into the bedroom and tipped them onto the bed, Kip on his back and Scott pressing down over him. It was gratifying to find that Scott did indeed care way more about fucking Kip than his playoff “science”.

“Mmm,” Kip whined when Scott stopped kissing him but then Scott was flipping him onto his front and running his hands up beneath the jersey so he could get his hands on Kip’s stomach and the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“Kip,” he groaned. “Kip, can I fuck you?” It didn’t sound like their usual playful ask. Scott sounded desperate for it.

“Yeah, absolutely,” Kip said. It was what he’d been going for.

Scott stripped Kip out of his briefs in one efficient tug and lunged for the nightstand on the other side of the bed. Kip could hear the drawer clatter out and the popping sound that signaled Scott had opened the bottle of lube he kept there.

“Okay,” Scott said, sounding a little shaky. “Okay.”

Kip rolled onto his side so he could look over his shoulder at him and check that he was actually okay.

Scott was staring at him like Kip was the goddamn Venus de Milo or Michelangelo’s David. “Like that,” Scott said, pressing a kiss to Kip’s neck. “Perfect.”

This was a great fucking idea, Kip thought blissfully, as Scott started fucking him in earnest. He had the jersey hiked up so the number was probably no longer visible but Scott’s hand kept running over Kip’s shoulders, along the letters on the back of the jersey: HUNTER. He was kissing Kip desperately and it wasn’t long before his thrusts started to turn erratic.

“Kip,” Scott moaned against his mouth. “Kip. Kip.”

“Yeah,” Kip said, breathlessly, “go ahead, baby. Come for me.”

Scott let out a shudding sob as he came and Kip reached for his own cock, jerking himself off until he came all over the Team USA logo.

“Wow,” Kip said when they both started to come down from the high. He pushed at Scott until they were both flat on their backs, breathing hard. “So the jersey really does it for you, huh?”

Scott laughed and turned over so they were chest to chest and he could kiss Kip properly again. “I love you,” he said, his eyes bright and sweet, and yeah, Kip loved him too.

-

“We’re getting to the very end of the season now and I think we have the same question we started with: what has happened to Scott Hunter?” the host on Man in the Crease said.

Kip’s head came up from where he was chopping lettuce at the kitchen island. He occasionally listened to the podcast as background noise since Scott usually had it queued up on the iPad but a lot of the talk was about players he wasn’t familiar with.

“I agree,” the second host said. “This has been a whirlwind year for Hunter. Up until now, I would have described him as one of the most consistent players in the league, but this year he started off listless, went red hot for a few months, cooled back down for awhile, and now he’s scoring like he wants to end the conference final in a sweep.”

“Two hat trick games in a row,” the first host said, picking up the thread. “Has anyone else even done that? We need to go look back at the record book.”

Kip grinned. One of those games had been yesterday, on the road, but the other had been at home and watching the hats rain down onto the rink for Scott had made Kip’s heart swell with pride for him.

“And I feel like we should talk about his new celly.”

“Absolutely. Despite being a top goal scorer for his entire career, Hunter has never had a particular goal scoring celebration.”

“Not like Matt Cory: tongue out, stick up. Or Sam Holtzner: classic salute.”

One of the hosts laughed. “Theo Williams’s little ice dance. And, excuse me, what I should have said was Hunter has never had a particular celly until now, right?”

“Uh-huh,” the other host said. “Start of the conference finals, Hunter scored the first goal—in the first minute, no less—and then he did a little double tap to his heart. We’ve seen it, what, seven times now?

“Eight, I think. And he hasn’t been particularly forthcoming about it in interviews.”

Kip smiled as he started to slice up a cucumber to add to the salad he was making. “It means ‘for you’,” Scott had told Kip, which was sweet as hell. Like the sport equivalent of having a musician boyfriend who dedicated songs to you. Kip had seen one of his after game interviews where a newscaster asked about it. Scott had smiled and tipped his head. “Ask me again after the playoffs,” he’d said.

That was the timeline. No big announcement that might distract everyone during the playoffs. Scott had talked to his agent, who had not been thrilled, but had at least shifted into strategy mode for what he called ‘damage control’.

Kip had chewed on his lip as he watched Scott write up a list of all the people he needed to give a heads up so they could be prepared: his coach, his sponsors, the Admirals PR team. “You don’t have to do all this. I’m going to tell my dad about us this weekend and confirm it to Elena and Maria, Sean. That’s all I need here, Scott,” Kip had said.

Scott had looked at him and said, “It’s not all I need, Kip,” and then he’d kissed him and Kip had let his anxiety go for a second. “I don’t actually care about the sponsorship stuff,” Scott had added, later. “If Under Armour decides they don’t want me to represent them anymore, they can go fuck themselves.”

“I think you’d look great in Adidas or Nike instead anyway,” Kip had said supportively.

On the podcast, the host continued. “It’s a bit of a mystery for sure. But whatever’s going on with Scott Hunter, I think it’s certainly given the Admirals an edge. They’re my projection to win it all this year. How about you, Bill?”

“The way they’ve been playing, it might not even be a contest.”

Kip wiped down the counter and turned off the podcast which had moved on to talking about Montreal. Good luck, tonight. I love you, Kip texted to Scott and didn’t even have to wait a minute before Scott sent back a heart.

-

The Admirals swept Nashville to win the Eastern Conference and Scott dropped his bag to grab Kip in a hug the second he walked through the apartment door.

“We’re going to the final!”

“You were amazing,” Kip said, and then Scott kissed him, hard and deep, so he couldn’t expound. They ended up on the couch so they could make out in proper comfort and after the kisses softened and slowed Kip sighed and moved to rest his head on Scott’s shoulder. “I’m going to bring my dad to the finals games instead of Elena if you’re okay with that.”

“Of course,” Scott said. “I’m excited to meet him soon.”

Kip had broken the news about dating Scott to his dad in person but Scott had spent practically every hour of his life at games or practices or strategy sessions over the past week so they weren’t scheduled for a proper ‘meet the parent’ dinner until after the playoffs.

“Oh,” Kip’s dad had said when he’d told him. “Oh. Is this why you started liking hockey so much, buddy?”

“Yeah, dad,” Kip had said. “It was super convenient to be able to see my boyfriend being hot on national television every two to three days.”

“But not everything about it is convenient,” Dad said, knowingly.

Kip had swallowed. “No, not everything.”

Kip shifted on the couch so he was straddling Scott’s lap and Scott’s hands immediately came up to his waist to steady him. “I love you,” Kip said, just because he could.

Scott smiled at him, inconvenient and beautiful and thoroughly perfect. “I love you too.”

-

The finals, in dramatic fashion, stretched out all the way to game seven. New York won the first two home games, then lost the next three on the road, came from behind to win game six at Madison Square Garden, and were now tied with Colorado 1 to 1 in the second period.

Kip felt like he was about to scream so he could only imagine how Scott felt.

“Deep breaths, buddy,” his dad said, patting him on the arm.

Kip didn’t particularly care if Scott was a Stanley Cup winner for the sake of it, but he knew what it meant to Scott and he knew, right or wrong, it would make things easier when Scott came out if he was Stanley Cup winner Scott Hunter and not Stanley Cup almost winner Scott Hunter. “Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ,” Kip chanted as Colorado made a breakaway down the ice after a fumbled defensive pass by New York but Bennett came in clutch, grabbing the shot with his glove.

“Here, drink some of this,” Dad said, handing Kip the gigantic jug of Coca-Cola he’d bought at concessions.

“I’m fine,” Kip said.

“Uh-huh,” Dad said, clearly unconvinced.

Kip had thought second period was desperate but as they got into the middle of the third with no more goals, the intensity ramped up even higher. Huff got checked into the wall in front of Kip so hard that the glass rattled and then kept right on going.

Kip felt it like an out of body experience as the clock counted down the last ten seconds in regulation time. New York was on the attacking end of the rink and the entire building was on its feet, cheering. Vaughn wrapped around the goal, tipped the puck back, and Scott whacked it into the top shelf right before the clock ran out.

The sound of the buzzer was almost drowned out by the screaming in the arena. Scott just had time to look over toward Kip in the stands, his face aglow, and do his heart tap celly before Vaughn and half the team slammed into him.

“Holy shit!” Kip said, hugging his dad. Everything was pandemonium, the entire team spilling out onto the ice and then family members started coming through the tunnel, wives and kids in team jerseys. Kip saw Huff put his daughter up on his shoulders.

Someone handed Scott the tall as fuck silver cup and and Scott lifted it above his head and then spun 360 degrees on his skates to show it off to the entire roaring stadium. It passed hand to hand after that and Kip fumbled for his phone so he could type I’m so proud of you and send it through to Scott’s phone somewhere in the locker room. He probably wouldn’t get to congratulate him in person until tomorrow morning at least when Scott came stumbling home from all the celebrations.

“Hold on,” Dad said, tapping him urgently on the shoulder. “What is Scott doing over there?”

Kip had only lost track of Scott for a moment but when he looked back now he saw that Scott had peeled himself away from the seething mass of players and family celebrating at center ice and skated off to one of the side doors. He ripped off his skates and started scooting his way through the rinkside seats as joyous fans pounded him on the back.

“Okay, but he’s not—,” Kip said. Scott was not going to come up here and hug him on national television. His coming out interview was going to be published in next week’s Sports Illustrated, quiet and low-key as possible.

“Oh buddy, I think he is,” Dad said.

Holy shit, Kip thought, because Scott was coming this way, taking the steps up to Kip’s section two at a time. Kip looked at the flash of blue that was Scott’s feet and realized he was wearing the socks Kip had gifted him. Kip’s heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest.

“Excuse me,” Dad said to their seat neighbors—Sam and Alice from Harlem—who he’d struck up an immediate friendship with the way he tended to do at any public event. “Going to move my kiddo out into the aisle here.” He nudged Kip from behind until Kip was standing on the platform of the aisle, clutching the center railing for dear life.

Suddenly, Scott was in front of him, sweaty and grinning and looking so so happy, the way he always deserved to be. “You did it,” Kip started to say, but Scott cut him off with his mouth, clutching Kip around the back and behind the neck as he kissed him deep and passionate and unmistakable with a million phone cameras pointed straight at them.

Chapter 6: Epilogue

Chapter Notes

sara’s hockey shit 🏒 @biscuitsinbaskets · June 12, 2014

Oh. My. God.

[Photo of Scott and Kip kissing, taken from a low angle.]

9 replies    29 retweets    103 likes

⛸️⛸️ @icecapade · June 12, 2014

*long, sustained screaming*

[Photo of Scott and Kip kissing, taken from a side angle.]

6 replies    31 retweets   141 likes

yeah boy! ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜 @pinsandneedles · June 12, 2014

Scott Hunter winning the Stanley Cup and coming out during Pride month? Oh, we stan 🏳️‍🌈

0 replies    2 retweets   19 likes

chirp 📣 @getittogether · June 12, 2014

you’re welcome

[Photo collage of Scott and Kip kissing from twenty five different angles.]

8 replies    322 retweets   1.4k likes

AMANDA @beatofyourheart · June 12, 2014

some serious rom-com shit happening here

[Video clip of Kip and Scott kissing in the stands. Scott’s hand moves from Kip’s back to his jaw. The camera pans over to center ice where Carter Vaughn, Greg Huff, and Eric Bennett are looking at them and cheering wildly.]

93 replies   765 retweets    11k likes

just me 🍄 @whowhatwhen · June 12, 2014

why is he wearing a bennett jersey instead of his boyfriend’s?? 😭

0 replies   2 retweets    10 likes

trapezoid @pipesguard · June 12, 2014

because goalies are the backbone of the team. put some respect on eric bennett’s name.

just me 🍄 @whowhatwhen · June 12, 2014

why is he wearing a bennett jersey instead of his boyfriend’s?? 😭

3 replies    15 retweets   97 likes

KiKi 🪄 @hihihockey · June 12, 2014

wait that’s the juice place barista. omg is this why the place became a hockey hangout?? did no one clock this??

1 reply   1 retweet    10 likes

brace yourself @letmeoff · June 12, 2014

to be fair, hockey players getting smoothies does not logically conclude to scott hunter is gay for the juice shop barista

KiKi 🪄 @hihihockey · June 12, 2014

wait that’s the juice place barista. omg is this why the place became a hockey hangout?? did no one clock this??

2 replies   18 retweets   151 likes

Sports Illustrated ✓ @SportsIllustratedOnline · June 14, 2014

This was meant to be an end of season exclusive but who can really blame Scott Hunter for being excited after winning the cup 🏆. Buy your copy at newsstands today!

[Graphic of Scott on a glossy magazine cover. He’s wearing his New York Admirals uniform, minus the helmet and gloves. Bold white text in the lower left corner reads ‘Scott Hunter: On Hockey, Homophobia, and His Path Toward Happiness’.]

351 replies    6,882 retweets    29k likes

-

“Should I buy this one for the apartment?” Scott asked Kip. He’d looked at the painting longer than any of the others in the gallery so far.

Kip smiled and rolled his eyes. “You have no idea how much this painting costs.”

“I think I could probably afford it,” Scott said, lacing his hand into Kip’s and squeezing. The ink was just dry on his three year contract extension with the Admirals: $28 million dollars. But it wasn’t about price anyway. He wanted Kip to have the things he wanted, to make Scott’s apartment their home.

“I still can’t believe you bought me that Mario Albrega after we broke up,” Kip said, shaking his head.

Yeah, Scott thought. That had been an exercise in self-flagellation. Buying Kip the painting he’d liked, putting it just where he’d recommended before Scott had freaked out and sprinted from the showroom. He hadn’t even thought he’d win Kip back when he’d bought it. He’d just wanted to keep any memory he could of him.

But he had gotten Kip back. Scott smiled. “Well I think you should pick at least one from here.”

“They are great,” Kip said, clearly being convinced.

“Kip,” Carter hissed, sidling up beside them, “I need your help. What’s something smart I can say about the art here? I don’t want Gloria to think I’m just some dumb jock.”

Scott glanced over at where Carter’s girlfriend Gloria was contemplating a sculpture in the middle of the room. Scott had mentioned his plans to go to the gallery with Kip and Carter had said, “Great, we can double.”

Kip put a hand on Carter’s arm. “Vaughn, do you know what Scott said to me when I asked him what he thought of that painting over there?” Kip said, nodding toward a canvas on the wall behind them.

Scott groaned and put his face in his hands. “Don’t.”

“He said,” Kip continued, “‘It has a lot of greens.’”

Carter laughed.

“And I adore him for it,” Kip said, pulling Scott’s hands down so he could kiss him.

That was acceptable recompense, Scott thought. It still amazed him that he could do this now, kiss Kip in public in the middle of the day and have no one bat an eye. The media glare had been painful for the first few months but no one was trying to follow them around, cameras flashing, anymore.

Things had gone, in the end, better than Scott could have hoped for. He still had his friends, he still had hockey, and he had Kip. There had been plenty of social media comments that mentioned burning his jersey or not buying tickets next season but, more importantly, there were comments like: My son came out to everyone when he was 15 and immediately quit hockey. He just told me he wants back on the team. About to go run some drills.

“I do like this one a lot,” Kip said. “I’m gonna go ask the attendant for the pricing.”

Scott watched him go, aware that his face was sappy as hell and not really caring.

“Thinking of buying him something else sometime soon?” Carter asked, nudging Scott on the arm.

Scott flushed. He’d had the ring in his sock drawer for two weeks now, nestled beside his Olympic gold medal.

“You’d better be sure about this, Scott,” his agent had said when Scott had first told him he wanted to come out, that he had a good reason to. “Like married in a year sure.”

“You think I should wait that long?” Scott blurted and Todd had sighed and said, “I’m hanging up now.”

Kip came back with an info sheet and handed it over to Scott. He looked vaguely nauseous, but he was also still getting used to Scott taking him to restaurants more classy than Whitman’s so that didn’t mean much. Scott looked at the price. “Sold,” he said.

“They’ll ship it to us,” Kip said. He smiled at Scott, “But you can take me home right now if you want.”

Carter laughed. “We’ll carry on without you then,” he said, patting Scott on the shoulder and making his way back over to Gloria.

Scott thought about lifting Kip up by the backs of his thighs and pinning him up against the bedroom wall like a painting, the most beautiful art Scott had ever seen. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go home.”

Chapter End Notes

Episode 5, save me... Anyway, I hope y'all enjoyed my Scott/Kip crash out. Comments are loved. Shout out to everyone who left me comments during the WIP phase, you're my heroes <3